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Posts Tagged ‘Fantasy’

SWIMMING ALONE

5/4/11

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain

He reached out to the world,

And found he was all alone,

Alone in a sea of blind humanity.

And he crumpled to the floor where,

He lay painful in a ball, curled there.

The world passed by where he lay.

Where he in silence, sang a song he alone did own.

No one heard the words he did try to share.

Not one took note where he did stay.

No one saw him there.

No one seemed to care.

No one stopped to say a prayer.

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UNWANTED TRESPASSING

5/3/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

Poet in the Rain

What is this place I’ve come to stumble on?

Where others, hitherto my arrival by happenstance, left footprints of their        passing;

In dust where shadows lay thick made of nonporous stone,

And, I feel I might, on some holy ground be, in some profound way:        unwanted in my trespassing.

While a labeled, sealed bottle sits on life’s workbench and at me stares.

Light brown liquid silent peering out of clear cut glass at me.

It would be easy to make a slip, to simply take a single prolonged sip

To feel it burn, running river wide, down my throat——but then, my       friend, nothing is free.

To forget the past, will not, in liquor, in permanence stand to last,

Neither will the pain be swept clear this night from yon-scarred table

Memories of lifelong stains come rushing at me all too fast

It is hard, so very hard at times like this to remain so composed and stable.

What is this place I’ve come to stumble on?

How came I to create such hell as this while through my life I’m passing?

Heavy burdens placed alive upon my heart,

And, in truth, I feel, I might, on some holy ground be, in some profound way:

unwanted in my trespassing.

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Midweek and cold outside. Am writing a new poem which I hope I can edit and post today on here and also on my other blogs. I think my readers will like it. It is a love poem about fields, flowers, children, and summer. Lots of wind and rain yesterday, will be dry and clear today. So, until I can finish editing CLOWNS I will wave and go my way, but you can definitely stay and read and comment should you feel that way.  Best to you all this fine morning. I am The Poet in the Rain. Gordon Kuhn

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TO LET THE MUSIC FLOW

April 4, 2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

It’s one AM, the dogs are loudly snoring at my feet.

My wife lies peaceful dreaming in a nearby silent room.

But——but, I am glued, held fast by unseen forces to this seat,

While words, lyrics, verses paint pictures in my head that loom,

Larger than life itself, and I could never hope to contain.

I try to focus, to keep the moments clear and maintain

In rational form to understand, but the position, I cannot sustain.

As they dance, dip and sway, for they simply carry me away.

In a sudden rush, in a momentary hush

Where the sounds that I hear become so rich and lush

And, I know I cannot force them here to stay.

I have no right to try to retain

but let them freely pass, to go.

To let the music simply flow.

 

It’s one AM, the sky is black outside.

The stars are there but doing their very best to hide,

As worlds of words swirl about my head,

rich images of distant places my thoughts are fed

I hear the music of distant lands and find my thoughts are gently spread,

In rapture, between heaven and hell, and beyond the gates of each

And I wonder what the muse is trying me to teach.

I know in my heart, I cannot hold the dreams in place

Only memories of the music can I ever hope on paper to trace.

I must let them freely pass, to freely go.

I must learn to let the music flow.

 

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THE VIOLIN

THE VIOLIN

3/18/11

Copyright 2011 Gordon L Kuhn

http://www.Poetintherain.com

Once,

years ago

I felt,

I touched

a violin,

just once,

I was shown

A note

How to play

Just one note

Once,

years ago

I touched a bow

To the strings

And

And was seduced

Once

Just once

years ago

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THE PENGUIN

3/17/11

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

I woke one night in early May

Of some forgotten year

and I blush to say the date I don’t recall

The number, sadly, wasn’t written on the wall

And the memory of such it was did not stay

Perhaps——memories

Perhaps memories themselves have something to fear

Of being eaten by something much bigger

That might wander in from out of shadows——far to close, far to near

So in safety they lay in hiding,

in safety biding afraid to rise up out of fear

Something close by which by circumstance would somehow trigger——

But, wasn’t Trigger the name of Roy’s fabulous old horse?

Oh——well, I am digressing——of course

I’m sure the evening before had been quite drear

as my headache, at the time, seemed all too massively clear

And stood as a reminder of why I was asleep upon the floor

Halfway to my bed from the apartment’s front door

Which, oddly, appeared through the mental haze,

at that curious time of night or day,

to be standing there, misty-like and bare-naked open

yet I was sure I had closed and locked it before

sometime entering or exiting before I lay and began to snore

perhaps the lock was broken

perhaps it was merely a reminder,

perhaps a shill someone had left lying on the nearby hill

maybe, after all, it was just a broken token

of the raucous night some hours (days?) before

But what was odd at that time of night

Or….was it time of day….

I’m really not so sure

so cannot really say

but beside me stood a well-dressed penguin

still freshly wet from the briny sea

a most handsome chap was he

in his spats and so very tall and stately thin

with what I would say was the most beaky grin

of any penguin I’ve ever yet to see

and he spoke of you and he spoke of me

and of the good, the bad, and of the sin

that someone tried upon my chest to pin

He said his name was hard to spell

So pronounced it phonetically

Very slowly, if I recall correctly the memory tell

But, gosh, I don’t recollect at all now his name,

Even though he said he’d had some fame

Just that it seemed to have the sound of distant surf

Crashing upon a rocky littered thick green turf

Far from where I lay that night or was it day

So, sadly, I’m so sorry,

Just my faded perforated memory

It tends to leak, you see

I find words and ideas simply lying about

Pictures and full-blown paragraphs

Here, there, lying in thick dust upon the floor

And I then begin to really doubt

And wonder if life is all just a pile of serigraphs

That someone bought at some local store

And came and dumped them out upon the floor

so please don’t shout, please, please don’t yell

It was a bad night, very bad, I’m sure,

if I could just recall, you see

And something——something came loose

Something unexpected broke free

And was lost in the dust therein which lay

To be then lost to me, to you, to us it failed to stay

while, from the remaining memory of it all

I do remember the penguin standing near to me

So very well dressed was he,

well dressed and fresh wet from the sea

And——how odd, I do now recall,

That he had a bull frog standing next to him

The reason?

I don’t recall him to ever say.

I’ve no earthly idea and must make an honest plea

In regards to the headache and the fact

It was the middle of the night and I’d really lost track

Or…or…”sigh”…..was it the middle of the day?

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OVERRUN

OVERRUN

2/20/2011

Copyright 2011 Gordon Kuhn

 

Don’t ask me to stop my mind from rushing forward

don’t look for me to block the flow of thought

gushing words from an unwritten book which ought

to be published freely within my mind

open and unlined the contents seek me out

unseen by all but me they fly at my waking thought

more quickly than control is able to hold in place

they consume the space and leave little behind, no trace

they were there unless I capture and place them on a page

in sometimes a rage of flow where my heart is torn apart

for lack of ability to get it down, to place it where it might be sought

by others before the fading of the day as darkness grows

amid the rush the knowledge lost emptiness sows.

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